But hopefully not that box of chocolates.

An adorable little boy selling door-to-door junk to work his way through camp/school/a ski trip/the real world/I don't know stopped by last night. He caught me in a weak moment, so I bought a box of chocolates, for $5.

I don't mind contributing to a good cause bad cause someone's cause, and I wasn't expecting Girardelli's, but I wish I could find the wee blighter and, kindly, ask if he'd like to share the chocolates with me, I wouldn't wish them on my co-workers.

Scary part one: Grease stains showing through the cardboard box.

Scary thing two: The little quilted wax paper layer had some horrible brown crush on one corner.

I never really got to analyze scary thing three, the box leapt from my hands to throw itself to the floor. A lot of the chokkies were brittle and shattered like shrapnel. Others had that pale, buff-tan-matte color of chocolates that have been around a long, long time. Others had raspberry filling, which is inexcusable on its own.

In short, don't eat the chocolates.

This is more of a "pride in product" gripe than anything else, and a mild frustration at not being able to gently explain the joys of customer satisfaction to Mr. Entrepreneur.

Helpless in the Face of Chocolate,
Spotty